


a little bit of hell in everyone

by cailures



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cailures/pseuds/cailures
Summary: "Maybe," said Eleanor, without really thinking this through, "it's not your dick that doesn't work.  Maybe you're just doing it wrong."





	a little bit of hell in everyone

**Author's Note:**

> FOR #3. IDEK.

"Hey, chief," said Eleanor, opening the door and then slamming shut her eyes because Michael was sitting naked in his office chair. And then putting her hands over her eyes because she would peek for the here of it and she was not going to be that kind of person anymore. "Okay, you're busy. I'll come back--"

 

"Oh, no," said Michael. "I could use a distraction right around now."

 

"Are you sure? Because you looked kind of busy to me."

 

Michael sighed, and Eleanor knew that sigh. She said, "Hard day? And yeah, I went there, but you were kind of--" Eleanor made the universal symbol for jerking off, but Michael wasn't looking at her.

 

"It has been rather difficult," said Michael, "thank you for ask-- Oh, the nudity thing, right." There was a rustle of cloth and when Eleanor opened her eyes again she saw he'd draped his suit jacket over his lap. Which wasn't that much of an improvement but Eleanor would take it. "You'd think your species would have evolved a shell or a pelt by now. It would make looking at you a lot easier."

 

Eleanor, who was a ten or at least a solid nine when she was in the same room as Tahani, raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one undressed and staring at my own junk here. I mean, seriously, what the fork, chief."

 

"I know," he said, hanging his head. "I was speaking to Shawn a few days ago and he was complaining about how they're swamped trying to find places for all the guys who sent out unsolicited penis photos and that's why they haven't gotten around to auditing-- Anyway, I started to wonder: what do humans see in these things?"

 

"Hey," she said, "I know I say this a lot, but this is really one of those not all human things."

 

"All right, all right." Michael waved a hand and Eleanor tried not to think about where that hand had just been. For someone who complained about his body all the time he was in surprisingly good shape. Even his knees were kind of nice. "Human males."

 

"Which is definitely not all humans."

 

"Then why do they think human females want to look at them?"

 

Eleanor shrugged. "Beats me."

 

"And if human females don't want to look at their penises, why are human men so fascinated with them? I mean, they take such delight in them." Michael stared forlornly at his lap. "I can't understand why. I asked Chidi to explain it to me but he said it was like the trolley problem all over again and I was clearly trying to torture him instead of genuinely wanting to expand my knowledge of humanity."

 

"Not the best person to ask," said Eleanor. "Don't know if you noticed, but he's kind of uptight. I don't think he chokes that chicken a lot."

 

"He doesn't. So then I asked Jason, who seems more of a chicken choker, both euphemistically and literally," said Michael. Eleanor wished she could have been a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation. "He said it felt good and it made him feel good, so of course he liked it, but I can't for the life of me figure out _how_." He made a frustrated gesture at the lump under his suit jacket. "All it does is depress me to have such ugly genitalia."

 

Oh boy. "Well," began Eleanor.

 

"I mean, I'm not asking for a cloaca. I understand that women's genitalia are, on a whole, much neater and easier to negotiate. And smoother. But this? It's just so floppy and wrinkly and vulnerable. It's one big design flaw. I shouldn't complain because we have an entire neighborhood where Ayn Rand impersonators put out their cigarettes on Republicans' penises, but that's just lazy on the part of the architect. You wouldn't be able to torture dolphins like that."

 

Eleanor really didn't want Michael to start telling her about dolphin dongs. Even if this was the Bad Place, she should not be subjected to strange furry shirt like that, although, hey, idea for a neighborhood. If only her high school guidance counselor had known that she was really suited to demoning, she wouldn't have wasted all that time at State getting a degree in forking Communications. "Maybe it would depress you less if you weren't staring at it."

 

"I know," said Michael. "But it's there, and it's infuriating. It's ugly and it doesn't even work, like that reboot where everyone was a muppet."

 

"Maybe," said Eleanor, without really thinking this through, "it's not your dick that doesn't work. Maybe you're just doing it wrong."

 

Michael stared at her. "Is that supposed to help me feel better?"

 

"Dude, when I walked in here, you were wrestling with it like it was a garden hose. Or maybe an eel. The point is," she continued, before Michael could start on about the aesthetic superiority of eels or whatever, "it's supposed to feel good, not like you're wringing every last drop from an Otter Pop."

 

Michael frowned at her. "You're right," he said, cracking his neck from side to side, "everything I've heard on the subject praises the oral version. I didn't think this spine would be--"

 

"Whoa whoa whoa," said Eleanor, rushing to the chair to hold the jacket in place as he started to bend over. "That is not what I meant. I meant, treat it gently, like a burrito you don't want the filling spilling out of. Do not try to suck your own dick, okay? You'll throw your back out and I will leave you for Vicky to find and take pictures of to post on Fiendbook."

 

Somewhere around the word gently, Eleanor realized that her hands were on Michael's thighs; on burrito, that for an old guy who constantly complained about his body he was pretty fit; on dick, that his face was very close to hers; and on post, that he was staring directly into her eyes.

 

"There is no Mexican food in the Bad Place," he said, very quietly.

 

Somewhere in the back of Eleanor's mind was the thought that that figured. In the front of her mind she was thinking that Michael kind of looked like an older, slightly evil Ted Danson, and Eleanor would be lying if she said she wasn't into that. Apparently the afterlife was for sexual awakenings regarding nerds and posh skyscrapers and now demons. "You want me to show you?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Okay," she said, and licked her lips.

 

Michael forking hissed. It was hot. She rubbed his bare knee. This wouldn't be the worst or weirdest hand job she'd ever given, even with Michael not knowing what to do with his dick. It had to at least be a step up from guys who thought they knew what to do with their dicks but had no forking clue.

 

"Okay," she said again. "I'm uncovering your junk. Try not to shriek in horror or do anything else that would ruin the mood."

 

"But what if you--"

 

Eleanor whipped the jacket off, then stared. "Dude, I don't know why you're complaining. That is far from the worst penis I've seen."

 

"It looks like a geoduck that was expelled from the species for being too ugly," said Michael.

 

It was decently thick but not too big, clean, and not a total mess of veins. It looked soft, and not just in the Michael had no idea what to do with a dick sense. It'd probably feel pretty good. "It's like the Chris Pine of penises. Chill out."

 

"That's easy for you to--oh." 

 

"Good?" Eleanor asked.

 

Michael swallowed on what Eleanor would bet was pure reflex. "What are you doing?"

 

"Just a little tickle," she said, trailing her fingers up the underside, and he shuddered with pleasure. "You like that?"

 

"Oh," said Michael. "I wasn't aware that verbal feedback was an expected part of this. Should I quantify--"

 

"Hold that thought," Eleanor said. "Let me add some moisture to this."

 

Michael blinked. "Did you just spit in your hand?"

 

"Yes." Clearly the Bad Place didn't watch bad porn, which surprised Eleanor a little. She'd always gotten a kick out of how hilariously awful some of it was, so she'd have thought demons would be into it too. Like, there was no way there weren't a bunch of demons laughing their ashes off over the bad dialogue and wooden acting of a pizza delivery guy and the sorority sisters of Beta Kappa Pheel. Although if Michael got grossed out by dicks, he probably pled a stomachache and worked on his neighborhood plans instead, the nerd. "I know what I'm doing, okay? Trust me."

 

"I do trust you," said Michael, still staring at her hand. "It just seems a little unhygienic."

 

"You're the genius trying to jerk it without any kind of lube," Eleanor said. "I mean, dude, you don't even have lotion."

 

Michael made a soft, surprised sound when she palmed the head of his dick in her now-slick hand. "I could call--"

 

"Don't you forking dare," said Eleanor. "I am really not into the thought of an audience and I don't even know what kind of fun facts she'd have for this occasion."

 

"Neither do I." Michael's chest was rising and falling. Eleanor reached out with her free hand and tweaked his glasses off. He turned his nose against the inside of her wrist and she felt her diaphragm contract. "Anyway, calling her in here, right now, probably counts as sexual harassment, and in the Bad Place, sexual harassment is something you don't do to your coworkers, just the hu--you know what, let's forget--"

 

"Yeah," she said. Besides, she was getting a rhythm going, and the indignity she'd felt had added a little twist to her stroke, and Michael forking loved it. He was putty in her hand. Except not really putty, because putty was soft, and Michael was firming up nicely for someone who was a few thousand years old.

 

She trailed her hand down his chest. Michael's abs twitched and tensed. "Can I," he began, and she nodded, because she trusted him too.

 

He had trouble unbuttoning her blouse because his hands kept shaking. Eleanor offered no help because it actually felt great, these tiny, uncertain whispers of fabric against her skin, and the feeling of Michael concentrating so damn hard on her. She took pity on him when it came to getting her boobs out.

 

Michael cupped them, almost reverentially. "This is very nice," he said. "Is that good for verbal feedback? I've never done this before."

 

"You're doing great, chief," she assured him, as one of his thumbs brushed her nipple. "You’ve got a real feel for this, if you know what I mean and I think you--ah!"

 

Michael leaned forward and licked at her neck. "It smells very good here," he said. "Especially with your pulse elevated."

 

"Elevate this," Eleanor said, and, letting go of his dick, clambered into the chair, kneeling above him, cupping the back of his neck. "Follow my lead and don't bite down."

 

"With wh--"

 

He had enough presence of mind not to bite down. Eleanor wasn't shoving her tongue into his mouth yet anyway, just indulging in some good old-fashioned sloppy kissing. She'd never have guessed it to look at him, but Michael was good at sloppy. He kept circling one nipple with one thumb, and using his other hand to follow her lower spine, dipping one finger down the back of her pants.

 

"Hey," she said, finally, breathlessly, "if you don't even understand about lube, there is no way that's on the table."

 

"What's on the table?" said Michael, his hair mussed up and his eyes unfocused. "I can't see over your shoulder."

 

"It's a metaphor," said Eleanor, shoving him down as he tried to peer at his desk. "Wow, sex really makes you stupid."

 

Michael frowned. "As far as feedback goes, is that positive or neg--"

 

Definitely positive, Eleanor almost said. She'd been super into dumb guys when she'd been alive, but, well, now she wasn't alive anymore and it was turning out she was into all kinds of other things. "Hold that thought," she said. "I want to try something."

 

Michael looked like he was going to protest and then he must have seen what she was doing, which was unzipping her pants and stepping out of them, kicking her underwear out of the way for good measure. Eleanor never said sex didn't make her stupid too, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd got some. 

 

"Just," she said, running her hands down her stomach, "sit there, all right? And follow--"

 

"Follow your lead," said Michael.

 

He didn't, of course. Forking demons. But Eleanor couldn't be too mad because she was already feeling great when Michael reached between them as she was lifting herself back up, rubbed, and said, "I think I found the clitoris."

 

"Fork," Eleanor said, her head falling onto his shoulder for a second, "yes, you did, good job."

 

"It's so much nicer than the penis," said Michael, continuing to work his thumb. "It hardly has any design flaws at all."

 

How, Eleanor wondered, could someone so bad at getting himself off prove so good at getting her off? Not that she was complaining. "You sweet talker, you." She looped an arm around his neck to steady herself: the more he did that while she tried to maintain her rhythm, the more wobbly she felt, and he probably didn't even know it.

 

Eleanor came unexpectedly with a shout of "Fork that forking feels good," and thought, forking verbal feedback. "I'm going to have leg cramps in a little while," she told Michael's clavicle. "Mostly from having sex in this stupid chair."

 

"Is that not how h--"

 

Eleanor put her hand over his mouth. He made that whimpering of the damned noise she was starting to like so much. "Grab my butt," she told him.

 

"I thought you'd never ask."

 

"Now, put me on the desk."

 

He didn't even object that that was unhygienic and didn't even need to be told what to do with his hips and his hands and, okay, maybe this time Eleanor's toes did curl and Michael would be responsible for like a third of her leg cramps. "Good job, chief," she panted, and he gasped and jerked and slumped on top of her.

 

Eleanor'd let him have it. Not bad, for a first time. She took the opportunity to mess up his hair even more and tickle his earlobes while he was at her mercy. She was full of that post-orgasmic fondness for everyone and everything and she wondered if this was maybe how really good people felt all the time. Content and affectionate, not wrung out and sticky. 

 

Michael stirred himself and staggered backwards into his chair.

 

A piece of paper was sticking to the sweat on Eleanor's side. It was damp enough that she considered using it to wipe herself up, but it might be important to Michael so she pulled it off and handed it to him, about to tell him that it shouldn't be too bad if he hung it out to dry, except he took it and _licked_ it.

 

It was oddly hot. Eleanor propped herself on her elbows and looked at where Michael once again sprawled in the chair.

 

"Wow," he said, a stunned look on his face. "Incredible."

 

He wasn't the first guy to tell her that, but Eleanor allowed herself to feel smug anyway as she put his glasses back on. "I know. By the way, you're wel--"

 

"Jason was _right_ about something."

 

Eleanor groaned and let her head fall back on the desk. "Just hand me my pants."


End file.
